Iconoclasm
by Diana Battis
Summary: Variations on a theme of truth


# **Iconoclasm**

AUTHOR: Diana Battis  
DISTRIBUTION: OK for Gossamer, Xemplary and Spookys. Anywhere else, just ask. I usually say yes.   
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, V, A   
RATING: PG-13  
SPOILERS: Yes. This is a post-En Ami piece.  
SUMMARY: Variations on a theme of truth.  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Never have, never will, damn it!  
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS: Hugs and virtual chocolate to Kristy, Triton, and bugs for their wonderful beta help. Special thanks to bugs for the advice, encouragement, and hand-holding.   
FEEDBACK: All4Mulder@aol.com or DianaBattis@aol.com  
My fanfiction can be found at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Vault/4090/TheXFilesFic.html  
  
**********  
"Rough work, iconoclasm, but the only way to get at truth."   
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. (1841-1935)  
**********  
  
She really had no one to blame but herself.  
  
Sighing, Scully turned her attention to the full moon, eyeing it wistfully. Its round perfection hung low, dominating the heavens like a rare, luminous jewel. There was something powerful about it; she felt its lure and suddenly wished she were anywhere but in that car. . .  
  
Mulder was beside her, seemingly intent on driving. He held the wheel with ease, his lean fingers curled gently around it. Stealing a glance at him, she was unsurprised to see his jaw clenching rhythmically, as though he were chewing over the thoughts running through his mind. The moonlight slid over the planes and angles of his face, but his expression gave nothing away.  
  
Her head tilted slightly, allowing a curtain of red hair to obscure her face. She didn't want to see him, or be the focus of his attention. She knew Mulder was worried about her; she sensed it in the quick, side-glances he'd been throwing her way. If she could do something to ease his concern, she would. But too much had happened to be brushed away with a few words and a casual smile. Somehow, a simple 'I'm fine' would make a mockery of everything she'd been through.  
  
Scully exhaled heavily, and her fingers traced through the circle of condensation that appeared on the window. The trip had been fruitless. Marjorie Butters' home had been reduced to a burnt shell, with only ashes left to provide answers. The same for the lakeside house. Nothing remained there either, not even the small boat at the dock. Nothing but the pervasive smell of smoke. . .  
  
She didn't know what she'd expected to find. She knew that the Smoking Man could melt in and out of the shadows like a specter, taking what he wanted and leaving nothing in return. He was an expert at that game, and it was obvious that she was outmaneuvered from the start. It had been naive of her to give trust where none was deserved. After all the time it had taken her to gain Mulder's trust. . .she shuddered lightly, the color of shame tinting her face.  
  
It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. The Smoker had offered her answers to so many questions, not the least of which was her chip. He tempted her with knowledge, and she'd taken a bite from his offering. Hell, she'd swallowed and asked for more.   
  
I'm a fool, she thought, pinching the bridge of her nose with trembling fingers. I trusted the devil.  
  
The window was cool against her cheek, and she closed her eyes, feeling the monotonous thrum of the wheels on the road vibrating through her. They were heading home, traveling over narrow lanes badly in need of repaving. In the daylight it had been easy to avoid the ruts pitting the surface, but the sun had set hours ago. Now they were speeding down the dark road, hitting every pothole with unbelievable accuracy, jumbling her nerves with every bump.  
  
Frowning, she reached up and rubbed her neck, trying to ease some of the tension. Her fingers trailed over the tiny scar on her nape, and she winced at the memories it stirred.  
  
Her actions didn't go unnoticed by Mulder. "You okay, Scully? I mean, do you want to. . .talk? We could stop for coffee. . ."  
  
Not now, she thought, her teeth gently worrying her bottom lip. Looking over at him, she replied softly, "If you want." She swallowed hard, hating the betraying quiver in her voice.  
  
Mulder stiffened, and his hands clenched the wheel tightly, knuckles whitening under the pressure. He nodded decisively, and steered the car off the road, coasting onto the grassy shoulder. In seconds the motor was off, and his seatbelt unsnapped. Turning, he surveyed her silently, his face obscured by shadows.  
  
"Why are we stopping here? I thought you wanted coffee. . ." Her voice trailed off, and she was forced to look away from those dark and probing eyes. He could be so single-minded, so dedicated to finding the truth. That was a trait she'd admired in the past, but not now. Not when she was the object of his focus.  
  
"Scully, aren't you ever going to look at me again?" The tension in the car belied his teasing tone.  
  
She shrugged, her fingers toying with the loosened belt of her trenchcoat. "I don't know what you want me to say, Mulder."   
  
He snorted. "How about 'yes, Mulder, it was incredibly dangerous to run off like that without telling anyone'? Do you have any idea how goddamned scared I was when I found out you went off with that smoking son of a bitch?" he bit out. "And do you even care?"  
  
Her head shot up, eyes blazing with indignation. "That's almost funny, coming from you. How many times have you put me in that exact position, Mulder?"  
  
Something flared in his eyes. "This isn't about me, Scully," he rasped, his expression a mixture of anger and pain. "Not everything is, as someone whose opinion I respect once said." He blew out a frustrated breath, causing the cheap pine air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror to swing wildly. "It's about you."  
  
She turned away. "Fine, Mulder. You're right -- it's all my fault," she replied in a mock-serious tone. "Satisfied?"  
  
He sighed deeply, the leather of his jacket crackling as he shifted closer. A cool hand grasped her chin, the touch firm but gentle, and forced her to face him. "I don't blame you for anything," he murmured, stressing the last word. "You seem to be doing enough of that for both of us."  
  
Did she really blame herself? The truth of his remark suddenly struck home. She'd always believed in taking responsibility for her actions. Averting her eyes, she nodded in agreement with his statement.   
  
"I understand, Scully." He paused, as though weighing his words carefully. "I know how his mind works. That black-lunged bastard has this uncanny knack of getting inside your head. He figures out the one thing you want above all else, and then he offers it to you. A neat little package all tied with pretty ribbon, but you just end up tangled in its strings." He grimaced, his hand rasping through the stubble darkening his cheeks. "You aren't the first one to be caught in his trap, and you probably won't be the last."  
  
"And this is supposed to comfort me, Mulder?" she asked, anger creeping into her voice. "How can you understand when I don't?"  
  
"Because I've been there, Scully. I've had Smokey dangle the carrot in my face. It would have been so easy to take it. . ."  
  
She felt her anger dissolve. "But you didn't. That's the difference, Mulder," she finished, shaking her head wearily. What more could she say? It was apparent that he was trying his best to comfort her, but she didn't want to feel better. She deserved his censure, his anger, his lack of trust. He wasn't supposed to accept what she did. God knows she wouldn't have, if the situation had been reversed. . .  
  
Mulder touched her cheek gently, stroking a finger along her jaw. "I can't pretend to approve of what you did. It was dangerous." He pressed it against her lips as she opened her mouth to speak. Leaning closer to her, he continued. "I know you can take care of yourself, and that you must have had a damned good reason for going with him. I can accept that."   
  
"Thank you," she answered quietly. It was more than she'd expected, and she felt tears threaten. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing them away. Under control again, she faced him, her expression unflinching as his eyes continued to assess her. "What, Mulder?"  
  
He held her gaze for a moment, then turned away. "Why didn't you tell me, Scully?" he asked abruptly, gripping the wheel tightly.  
  
Fear coiled like a snake, choking her with its tenacity. There it was -- the question she'd dreaded most. What could she say? How could she explain it to him? She shivered, pulling her coat tightly around herself in an unconsciously protective gesture. "I. . .couldn't."  
  
He laughed, a short bark of sound that held no trace of humor. "Why, Scully? Don't you trust me?" He turned then, and his face seemed alive with pain.  
  
"Oh, Mulder, you know better than that." She reached out and covered his clenched hands, stroking soothingly over them. "I never intended to keep this a secret. You have to believe that. It's just. . .he made it an issue. He agreed to share the knowledge with one stipulation -- I was to tell no one. I did try to communicate with you."  
  
"The phone call to Skinner?" His fingers unwound, and his left hand clasped hers tightly.  
  
She nodded. "And I. . .I was wearing a wire. It was a crude set-up, but it couldn't be helped; I didn't have much time to prepare. It was a simple matter to mail the tape. . .maybe too simple," she finished grimly.  
  
"Tampering with the US mails is a relatively minor infringement of the law where that son of a bitch is concerned." He gave her hand a final pat before releasing it and shifting to restart the engine.  
  
"Mulder, wait!" He turned back to her, and she stretched across the console separating their seats, resting her palm against his chest. "You do believe me?" she asked tentatively, feeling his heart racing beneath the black shirt.  
  
His breath hitched, and then he smiled. "Of course I believe you, Scully," he whispered, tilting his head slightly. His eyes glowed in the moonlight, assurance shining in their depths.   
  
"Thank you," she breathed, returning his smile.  
  
"There's something else you should know, Scully." His hand covered hers where it rested against his heart, squeezing it lightly before dropping back on to the wheel. "Once, I was in the same position as you. I was offered something that meant more to me than almost anything. And I was tempted." He swallowed hard, the gulp audible in the ensuing silence.  
  
"Go on," she encouraged, her palm gliding in soothing circles over his chest.  
  
"That bastard approached me, offering a deal." He closed his eyes, as if to shut out the memories. "It was a bad time in my life. He knew I was weak, and he capitalized on that vulnerability. He wanted my loyalty, and offered me something valuable in exchange -- the truth about Samantha."  
  
Scully sighed, unconsciously twisting her fingers in the black cotton of his tee shirt. "You mentioned seeing your sister, Mulder, but you never told me the details."  
  
His eyes blinked open. "I started to tell you everything once -- when you were sick." He grimaced at the obviously painful memories. "I waited in this shabby little diner. It was late; I was exhausted. I'd been operating on sheer nerve, though I know that's not much of an excuse," he finished, shaking his head. "She. . .looked right, Scully. She was Samantha." His mouth twisted in remembrance. "For a few minutes, I had what I'd been searching for. I had my sister."   
  
"He let her come to you alone?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Oh, no, he was there. He sat in the parking lot, smoking his goddamned Morleys and watching us. . .Christ, he must have laughed his ass off when she told him what went on."   
  
"I'm sorry, Mulder." Her fingers loosened their grip on his shirt. She stroked through his tousled hair before resting her hand against his cheek, mimicking his earlier gesture. "I wish you'd told me all of this before."  
  
He looked away from her, staring through the windshield at the black ribbon of road. "I wanted to. I came to you that night, fully intending to tell you the whole story. The hospital visiting hours were over, and I had to sneak into your room." He turned back to her, his expression bleak. "You were sleeping; it hurt just to look at you. I could see you wasting away, your strength waning like the moon." He motioned toward the glowing orb. "I was so close to accepting his offer, Scully. I wanted Samantha back, and I would have done whatever it took to accomplish that."   
  
Scully sat quietly, digesting the information. She'd always thought of Mulder's search for Samantha as a noble quest. The love he had for his sister had never faltered, not once in the years she'd known him. Not even when the search had ended so tragically in California.  
  
He sighed, and turned to nuzzle his cheek against her palm. "I was losing you, Scully, and I almost lost myself as well. I came to you that night, intending to talk, and ended up just watching you sleep." He laughed shortly. "You saved me, Scully. I would have sold myself to the devil for her, but seeing you there, seeing what you'd sacrificed. . .I couldn't do it. I just. . .I wish you'd have let me help you in the same way."  
  
Scully bit her cheek, the coppery tang of blood mixing with the bitter memories. She knew he was right, but it was too late to change the past. "I'm sorry, Mulder. But I had to give him my answer immediately. You're used to thinking on your feet, to making snap decisions." She stroked her thumb across his bottom lip. "I need to weigh all the possibilities, figure out which step is the most logical. And I didn't do that this time."  
  
That admission cost her a lot. She'd always prided herself on her ability to think rationally, without letting emotions color her decisions. But logic had deserted her, leaving her to act on gut instinct. It had felt strange at first, frightening, as if she were free-falling without a parachute. Then it hit her, and she'd relished the sudden rush of confidence. She'd known this was what Mulder felt, and it had been sweet and intoxicating, for a while. Until reality set in.  
  
Her hand dropped from his face, and she moved away from him. "I won't lie to you, Mulder. My reasons weren't totally altruistic. I wanted to know about the chip. God, do you know what it's like to rely on a scrap of metal for your health?" She trembled, wrapping her arms around herself to stop the shaking.   
  
"It's okay, Scully."  
  
"No, it isn't. . .but I swear to you there was more to it than just my chip. What if he were telling the truth, Mulder? What if he did have the cure for cancer? It could help so many people. I couldn't risk losing that, could I?" She turned haunted eyes to him. "Could I?" she repeated softly.  
  
He rested his hands on her shoulders. "No one's perfect, Scully. We all make mistakes. Don't let one bad move throw you."  
  
"How, Mulder? How am I supposed to deal with this; to forget that I shook hands with the devil?" she asked, regret coloring her voice.  
  
"You don't forget. Ever. But don't spend the rest of your life berating yourself for one mistake. You have to forgive yourself, Scully. And then move on."  
  
She brushed a lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You make it sound so easy."  
  
He laughed. "Not easy, just necessary if you want to live with yourself."  
  
"And you, Mulder. Do you forgive me?"  
  
His hands stroked down her arms, fingers closing over her wrists. Thumbs circled over her skin, slipping over the pulse that throbbed beneath the pale flesh. "Forgive you for what? For caring too much?" He tugged her forward, meeting her halfway. "Scully, that's one of your better habits."  
  
She sighed deeply, her arms creeping around his neck as she rested her head against him. His heart beat steadily beneath her cheek, and she felt the feather-light touch of his lips on her head.  
  
"Feel better?" he asked, his breath stirring her hair.  
  
She nodded, shuddering as his fingers traced over her back in a comforting gesture. "Thanks, Mulder," she murmured. Lifting her head, she looked into his eyes. She saw warmth and compassion reflected in their clear, green depths. On impulse, she twined her fingers in his hair and pulled his head lower to press a soft kiss against his lips.  
  
He looked puzzled, and just a little bit embarrassed. "What was that for?"  
  
"Because."  
  
Smiling, he leaned closer to her. "That's not an answer, Scully."  
  
"Well, it's the best I can come up with at the moment." She smiled back, feeling better than she had for days. "Ask me again sometime, I might have a more acceptable response."  
  
"Scully, close your eyes." His voice was serious, his tone one of firm resolution.  
  
"What. . .?"   
  
"Work with me, Scully. For once in your life, just do what I ask. Please." He leaned closer, and her eyes slowly drifted shut.  
  
She felt the touch of his lips on her cheek, softly moving over her flesh. His mouth was warm, his breath hot as it stirred her loose hair. He lightly nipped at her chin before moving the few inches upward to cover her mouth with his. . .  
  
This wasn't the gentle kiss of New Year's. And it was nothing like the comforting peck she'd just given him. Her lips parted at the first stroke of his tongue, and she gasped as he deepened the kiss.   
  
Everything seemed so strange, almost surreal. Like a Dali painting, only it wasn't clocks but her inhibitions that were melting away as heat coursed through her. And in that instant she gave in, allowing all the feelings she'd kept hidden to flood to the surface. No more pretending he was only her partner, that she loved him like a brother, that this was a platonic gesture of peace. Shivering, she wound her arms around him, burying herself in his warmth. And when he pulled back, she moaned in distress, blindly seeking him again.  
  
More, she thought, as their lips reconnected. Tongue curling into his mouth, she tasted the coolness of mint and heat of passion. Her fingers twisted through his hair, using the spiky strands to hold him in place as though she were afraid of losing him. This was what she wanted, she realized. To climb into his arms and never leave. But now wasn't the time, and she reluctantly allowed him to break the kiss.  
  
She opened her eyes with effort, looking into his face. Dark lashes fanned against cheeks flushed with passion, and his lips were wet and slightly swollen. He was so gorgeous it took her breath away.   
  
As if sensing her scrutiny, his eyes blinked open to meet hers. She slowly traced a finger across the fullness of his bottom lip, teasing him with the lightest of touches. He shuddered, and his teeth gently nipped at its soft pad before soothing it with his tongue.  
  
"What was that for, Mulder?" she asked, repeating his earlier question.   
  
"Let's call it an empirical response to physiological stimuli, Scully," he murmured huskily, his mouth curving upward.  
  
"That's not an answer, Mulder." Her voice was surprisingly steady, betraying none of the hurt she felt at his flippant reply. She knew it was his way of dealing with emotions. A clever quip, a self-deprecating grin, and Mulder was back in his emotional safety zone. She understood that, and usually accepted it. But not tonight. Leaning over the console that separated them, she repeated her question.  
  
His smile faded. "I won't lie to you, Scully," he declared, his face curiously empty. "I'm tired of the pretense, the bullshit, the emotional two-step we seem to do. I thought I'd lost you, this time for sure, and it was just one time too many." He touched her face, trailing the back of his fingers across her cheek. "I want more, and you do, too. Am I wrong?"  
  
"No," she whispered.  
  
Mulder edged closer, his eyes burning with emotion. "I love you, and it's killing me to pretend otherwise."  
  
He'd thrown down the gauntlet. She could see he meant every word. Her fears of the unknown traps of a relationship were crowded out by a fear of losing this man. She made her choice. Leaning forward, she let her hand slide around his neck, her fingers combing through the close-cropped hair. "Then stop pretending."  
  
********  
  
The End  


* * *

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